


Pour a Little Sugar on It

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney hates Cadman. Not only does she possess the most annoying smirk known to mankind; not only is she capable of the most appalling innuendo about certain physical attributes of Rodney's; but now she's apparently sending <i>care packages</i> back to Atlantis, just in time for Christmas.</p><p>How she has the bare-faced cheek, Rodney doesn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour a Little Sugar on It

**Author's Note:**

> For Amberlynne.

Rodney hates Cadman. Not only does she possess the most annoying smirk known to mankind; not only is she capable of the most appalling innuendo about certain physical attributes of Rodney's; but now she's apparently sending _care packages_ back to Atlantis, just in time for Christmas.

How she has the bare-faced cheek, Rodney doesn't know.

It's not the stack of DVDs the box contained when it was beamed down from the _Daedalus_ that's bothering him so much; it's not the CDs full of Christmas songs, as creatively bankrupt and atonal as they are; it's not the _hilarious_ novelty foam reindeer antlers, or even the three bottles of Absolut Citron with an accompanying Post It note saying 'For McKay' that have him so annoyed.

It's the large package of red and white striped candy canes that had been tucked away in the middle of the package; the ones that Sheppard had pulled out of the box with a sly grin before appropriating most of them for himself.

Which Rodney would ordinarily dismiss as a childish abuse of power on Sheppard's part--you wouldn't catch _him_ engaging in such behaviour. (Which is partially true, he admits to himself; he'd totally steal the candy, but he'd make sure no one would catch him; Sheppard was dumb enough to stick the package into the pocket of his BDU's in plain sight of everyone else)

But it's very hard to dismiss it entirely when Sheppard keeps reminding him over and over--first in the mess, after lunch. Then in the gateroom, when Rodney was trying his best to focus on fixing a bug which had cropped up in one of the dialling subroutines, a bug which required absolute concentration and a delicacy of touch. And now in the general staff meeting, with Rodney trying his best to focus on Sam's explanation of new SGC procedures and goddammit, Sheppard is practically _deep throating_ that stupid candy cane right in front of him.

Rodney knows he's flushing, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Sam as she works her way point by point through General Landry's latest memo; or at least, he mostly keeps his gaze fixed on her. His eyes dart over every now and then to watch how Sheppard flattens his tongue against the length of the cane; how he swirls the very tip of his tongue around the end of it; how he licks at the full, sugar-sweet curve of his lower lip with a neat pink tongue. It's practically pornographic, and Rodney has no idea why no one else has picked up on it. He's shifting uncomfortably in his seat by the end of the forty minutes, and when everyone else stands to leave, Rodney has to pretend to be busy annotating a memo on recycling in the mess hall so that he doesn't embarrass himself when he stands up.

Of course, Sheppard, being Sheppard, doesn't take the hint. Instead, he walks over to Rodney's side of the room, and leans, hip-cocked, against the table, that ridiculous candy cane hanging from one corner of his mouth.

"Hey, Rodney," he offers, his words slightly more drawled than usual.

"Bite me," Rodney says succinctly, shuffling his papers into neat piles so that he doesn't have to look directly at Sheppard.

He can still tell that Sheppard's smirking, somehow, a sixth sense that four years' exposure to the other man's panoply of facial expressions has imbued him with. "Someone's not in the holiday spirit. You'd better be careful, or you'll get a lump of coal in your stocking, McKay."

Rodney stands up, hugging his laptop and papers to his chest like a shield, and feels his jaw tighten when he looks at Sheppard. "Yes, well, glasshouses, stones, candy canes," he says. "How else do you expect me to react when you're being all, all..." He flaps one hand aimlessly, as if one gesture can encompass everything that is infuriatingly, uniquely John Sheppard. "_Tease_," he blurts out eventually, and he is embarrassingly aware that his cheeks are growing ever more flushed.

Sheppard just raises an eyebrow. "Not a tease," he says.

"You are!" Rodney says, exasperated and righteously angry, dumping everything back down on the table so that he can work himself up to a really good rant without losing yet another hard drive. "An exasperating, maddening, provoking--"

Sheppard stands up straight and takes the candy cane from his mouth, before setting it down on the table. "Rodney," he says, quiet and serious enough to finally get Rodney's attention. "I'm not teasing."

Then he closes his eyes, lashes dark against his cheek, before leaning in and kissing Rodney; it's sweet and slow and strangely chaste, John's hands coming up to rest on Rodney's shoulders with a tentativeness that Rodney almost can't _bear_; and he pushes back, licks at John's sticky-sweet lips, hears John's groan with a kind of smug satisfaction and oh yeah, yes, Rodney thinks, that was exactly the kind of sugar-rush he was looking for all along.


End file.
